


Cancelled Negatives

by SisterWine



Category: Elementary
Genre: Bring a kid to work day?, Chance meeting in the parking garage, F/M, Gen, Gregson shares a secret, Gunrunning, How many bad guys does it take?, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Little neon green photobook, M/M, New York Harbour, Nothing like New York in the Winter, Slow Burn, Supplier with a mystery, You can get pretty much anything shipped to you, missing child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/pseuds/SisterWine
Summary: Disclaimer: I do not own Elementary. I make no claim to Sherlock Holmes or any of the variants. Character creator is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Series creator is Robert Doherty. My own characters include Lee Sawyer, Ramsey Gaither, Ernie, Marissa and Parker Harris and Samantha. Purely Fiction and for fun only.Summary: A teen is missing as the city is flooded with weapons and drugs. Sherlock and Joan hunt for the girl while Gregson and Bell hunt for the dealers.





	1. Chapter 1

Captain Gregson stepped out of his car and shut the door, pulling his long gray wool coat tighter around him as the cold gust of winter enveloped him. He had parked his car in the middle of the street, siren off but the red bauble light on. Police tape blocked off travel through and around a port at the far end of the shipyards. Ducking under the tape and making his way toward the young detective, Marcus Bell, he paused to sigh under his breath as he surveyed the gruesome scene. "Any witnesses?"

Detective Bell stood just outside the large red metal container, doors ajar, and finished scribbling into his notepad the rest of his notes. He looked up as the captain approached and questioned him. "Homeless man and his daughter were sleeping inside another container" he turned and pointed to a blue container with one door open and two uniformed officers standing in front of it, comparing notes and placing evidence markers for the bullet casings they had found, "when they heard a commotion outside. Man said there were about ten men standing in front of the container," turning back and pointing to container next to him, "when an argument started. He said two of the men were loading large crates onto a plain moving truck when the argument between the two men in charge escalated. Four dead, two wounded, including the homeless man. Wounded were transported to Mercy General just before you arrived. Still waiting on the coroner, though." He looked up from his notes to find the captain staring at the container. 

The container was only half of what the full sized containers were but riddled with wooden crates of all sizes, some open and some yet to be opened by police. Officers shined their flashlights into the open crates and wrote down the contents they found among the straw excels. It was still early enough in the morning that the sun had barely peaked over the watery horizon and forced the officers to use a squad car's headlights for light, in the container.

Listening to Bell and noting the neglected wooden crates loaded with guns and ammunition, Gregson was silent for a long moment. "How bad was the father hit?"

Bell scratched a spot over his right eyebrow and flipped through his notes. "He took one in the left shoulder and one in the left leg. He said he was shielding his daughter from the gunfire. Dock security heard the shots and called PD after witnessing the tail end of the exchange from his rounds."

Gregson nodded. "Daughter okay?"

"No sign of her. Her father said he lost consciousness after being hit in the leg. The last thing he heard was his daughter screaming, when he woke up, she was gone." Bell watched Gregson as he stepped closer to the inside of the container. 

Cupping his hand over his mouth, Gregson had a sinking and sickening feeling over the safety of the missing girl. "Holmes around?"

Pointing past the container that was sitting on the dock, adjacent to the long and three-high stacked rows of containers, Bell informed his boss that Sherlock Holmes was examining the crane equipment for possible evidence left by the operator and possible member of the group moving the weapons. "The claws of the crane were still secured to the container, when we arrived. Joan went to the hospital to speak to the father and see how he's doing."

A moment later, Sherlock walked briskly and stiffly up to them and came to a stop next to Bell. Shoving his gloved hands into his jacket pockets, he rocked forward to bounce on the balls of his feet in anxious habit before settling down again. "That is the cleanest workings on a crane I have ever seen, on the shipyards. The controls have obviously been wiped down, removing the worker's fingerprints as well as those of the thieves. From there, I have found black fibres wedged into the metal framing of the seat. However, a shoeprint found on the step of the crane points to" he quickly turned around and pointed to the far end of the dock, where several officers stood and documented their own piece of the scene, "the second gate of the dock," he turned back to see the captain now standing on the other side of Bell and listening to him, "where the security guard saw a black SUV follow the box truck out of the dockyard. My guess is, they've abducted the girl and took because she and her father saw their faces or heard something she shouldn't have."

Absently placing a hand over his mouth and staring back at the container, Gregson sighed again as he thought about the new information. Removing the hand from his mouth and folding his arms, he eyed a big crate that had been broken into by the thieves and moved to sit just inside the container. "So, a crew of ten somehow knew this container would be here. What do we have on the packing slip, if there is any?" As Marcus started to run down the list of notes on the container, Gregson stepped inside and over to the crate, peering in to find it empty of anything more than packing excel.

"Front of the container held crates of weapons, some high-grade, boxes and boxes of bullets for rifles as well as semi-automatic handguns. Back of the container held crates of possible drugs. Those are gone but empty boxes of ground coffee were obvious signs narcotics were inside, CSU is testing it now. As for the packing slip or manifest from the cargo ship, guard said there was nothing to be delivered during the night and he didn't hear anything while he was making his rounds. The two injured thugs should be awake in a few hours and ready for questioning." Bell sighed and shivered as the breeze picked up and scooped in the frozen air from the sea.

Gregson nodded. "Guard see the girl? Dad give a description at all on her?"

Shaking his head, Bell flipped back in his notes. "Guard was calling for back up as they were loading the girl into the SUV. Caucasian girl, about twelve or thirteen years old, five feet tall, brown hair, blue eyes. Her name's Samantha. Father said they found an open container, waited until quitting time and then settled in."

Sherlock removed his phone from his right jacket pocket and clicked it on to see a message from Joan. "Watson says the father is out of surgery and they are moving him to a private room. Also, one of the thieves is awake and able to talk."

Gregson turned to walk back to his car. "Get him into an interrogation room and have a chat. I wanna talk to the guard, also. I'm going to meet Joan at the hospital, when the dad wakes up. Meantime, get all that you can on the weapons and what kind of drugs were dealing with. Last thing we need is pandemonium once these things hit the streets." Making it to his car door as he finished, he opened the door and sat back down, happy to get out of the cold but inwardly upset with the knowledge of heavy-duty weapons and drugs making landfall in his city. He sighed and started the engine, heading down to the far end to see what the officers and technicians at the gate had found.

~~~~~~~~~~

"What the hell is this?" A man wearing a light gray Armani suit and dark red shirt threw open his office door and made his way over to the SUV, looking shocked at the driver and passenger unloading the bound and gagged teen from the backseat. "Where's my shipment? What the hell is she doing here?" He stood in the middle of a large, mostly empty warehouse that was well lit from skylights and overhead lamps. The remaining members had started unloading the moving truck that pulled in in front of the SUV. He fumed and stared the men down as he waited for their answer.

The two men looked at each other and then down to the girl that struggled to free herself. "She saw us." The driver adjusted his grip on her arm. 

Shaking his head, the boss growled under his breath and pointed to his office. "So, you bring her here?! Put her in the office." He gritted his teeth and turned to watch them as they walked past him. "And keep her quiet. Got it?" He checked his Rolex and clapped his hands, gaining the attention of the four men working in the back of the truck. "Let's go! Let's go!" Checking his watch again, he was anxious to get his deal done but was in no hurry to see the young, handsome supplier leave before chatting with him. Making his way around to the back of the truck, he stared in disbelief. "This is only half the order! Where's the rest of it?"

A man from the back of the truck came to the edge and hopped down, out of the box. "Had to leave it behind. The old man called the cops." A hand reached up to absently stroke his well-shaped, brown beard as he told his boss the story of the delivery that went wrong and the two transients that got in the way. Ernie was Ramsey Gaither's second in command for his big operations, a trusted associate that Ramsey often depended on when he was called to another job. He had a good work ethic and liked getting the job done, even though it was mostly illegal.

Ramsey bit his tongue out of frustration. "I'm gonna have to tell her she only gets half her shipment?"

"We got the whole powder order, though. Maybe the supplier can make up the difference?" Ernie glanced back at the truck, seeing the crates mostly unloaded and not liking what little he saw in the pile they were placed in.

"And short another of his orders? He comes through in a squeeze but, he'll have something to say about this." Ramsey shook his head again and turned back to his office to call his partner, Marissa. "Lee's good but he ain't that good." He called back as Ernie followed him only a few steps behind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Joan stood next to the bed of the homeless man and looked over him carefully. "Mister Harris, you said you saw what happened. Do you remember anything else about last night?" Her tone was soft as she stood by his bed. The man was groggy from medication and under request to be kept calm. 

Parker Harris stared at the ceiling. His mind raced with thoughts of his daughter and the unsteady events of the early morning hours. "We were sleeping and Sam heard something. The guard lets us stay there, sometimes. It was windy, last night, so we slept in the container." Running his right hand through his greasy brown hair, he paused to fight back the emotions that crept up. 

"Take your time. Did you hear any names or see what they looked like?" Joan shifted, resting her hands on the railing, on the side of the bed.

Harris shook his head but continued to stare at the ceiling. "She opened the door to see. They must have heard it. They started shooting at her." Using the same hand that raked his hair to cover his eyes, he sobbed quietly. After a brief sob fit, he took a breath and continued. "She saw them. I rolled her over me as the bullets came." Removing the hand from his face, he turned to Joan and covered her hands with his. "Find my Sammy. She's all I have left. Please." He pleaded with her, brown eyes welling up with tears again.

Joan found herself speechless but nodded and tried to comfort him as best she could. "Mister Harris, I know this is hard for you. Do you have a recent photo of Samantha?"

He shook his head again. "After her mother died, I lost it. I lost my house, my job, so we grabbed what we could and came here to start over. She has a green book she keeps photos in."

Nodding, Joan pat his hand and tried to calm him down after noticing a spike in the man's blood pressure monitor. "Rest. We'll find it." She gave a faint smile as she watched him nod tiredly and close his eyes, relaxing into exhausted sleep. She turned toward the door and found Captain Gregson standing there, silently watching and listening to the tail end of the conversation. Walking over to him and guiding him around the corner, they chatted about the missing pieces. 

"Both perps clammed up really quick when I asked them what they were doing on the dock at three in the morning. They looked mighty scared, too. Get anything else out of the father?" Gregson kept his hands in his pockets as they walked down the hallway. He had been standing there since the man described the photo book but didn't hear much else.

Joan walked beside him, carrying her downe coat in her arms. She had taken it off as she waited for Mister Harris to regain consciousness and hadn't put it back on when she left the room. "He says he didn't see anything. It was mainly Samantha that saw what happened and that's probably why they grabbed her. The doctor that removed the bullets noticed some bruising on his back, in the shape of a butt of a rifle so, they must have shot at the container when they heard the door open and knocked him out and took the daughter, when they realised she was still alive." She stopped and turned to face the captain. "He mentioned she had a green photo album that might contain a picture of her. If not recent, we might be able to do a progression. I can also check on any other family members and see if they have any photos of her."

Gregson agreed. "Sounds good. We have the guard at the station. Some coffee, some warmth, he might give us what he saw."

 

Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

The African-American security guard, Walter Greene, sat across the conference room table from Joan, Gregson and Detective Bell while Sherlock sat at the end of the table, turned away from facing he man, his left elbow on the table. A man of sixty with thin-rimmed glasses and short, curly black hair sighed and contained a yawn as he had been up all night, longer than he wanted to be. His shift had been over for three hours, not to mention he had gone in early for some much needed overtime and now, he sat across from an inquisitive captain and three underlings. "I already told you what I saw. What else is there?"

"Where were you, in proximity, to the heist on the docks, this morning?" The captain eyed the man, watching his expressions and movements but remained casual.

The guard sat back and sighed loudly. "I told the officer that questioned me when they got there, I was on my rounds, checking the gate at the front. I came back around, from the north side of the dock and I heard a loud noise, like uh... uh... a bang. I came around the side of the far end of the yard when I saw a group of guys firing guns at an empty container. I got to the shack and called police, and when I came out, I saw a black SUV and a moving truck speeding away." The man blinked and tiredly looked up at the captain. He sat forward and reached for his Styrofoam cup of coffee they have offered him for his trouble of coming down the to station.

Joan rest her arms on the table and folded her hands. "Mister Harris, the homeless man, says you let him and his daughter sleep in the empty containers, sometimes."

"Yea. But, they have to be out before workers get there at 6AM. I ain't supposed to do that but, I can't let them freeze to death." Walter sipped at his warm coffee.

Sherlock remained silent and turned away from the man but he turned his head to face the guard as he recounted the night's events. In his head, he had retraced what the man had said and then rechecked his own mental notes of the scene. 

Marcus shifted and held up a piece of paper with a sketch layout of the dockyard. "Mister Greene, you said you were at the guard shack when the vehicles pulled away but in your statement, you told officers that you witnessed the end of the gun fight before they took off. Could you tell who was shooting at whom? Did they say anything?" Marcus looked from the back of the paper to Walter, indicating where the individuals were standing, according to his notes.

The guard shook his head. 

"They were already firing on the container where Mister Harris and his daughter were sleeping, when you got there. Correct?" The captain added.

"Yea."

Gregson shifted. "And you don't know how four men were shot and killed by the rest of the gang, even though, they left in the only two vehicles that miraculously made inside the gates and on to the dock side, and then used a crane that was mistakenly left out, to get their merchandise? Have I got that right?" His expression hardened as the guard blinked at him, anger causing his body to tense.

Walter breathed a moment to calm himself. "I told you. I don't know what happened. The kid and I went up to check the front gate. I made sure it was locked. He was driving the car and I decided to walk." He pause and sat back to pat his protruding belly. "My wife says I could lose a few pounds, keeping up with the grandkids is becoming too hard to do." Leaning forward again, he replaced his hand on the cup, letting the fading warmth warm his hands. 

"You mean, another guard was on duty with you?" Gregson questioned.

Taking a breath and feeling like he was talking to a brick wall, Walter nodded. "Yea, he's a young kid, maybe mid-thirties. He took the car down to the south end."

Gregson leaned in a little more with interest. "We looked at the schedule. You were the only guard on shift. The other guard, a woman in her late forties, quit the night before last. What was the other guard's name that worked with you, last night?"

Walter rubbed a hand over his face and fought the drowsiness of sleep off as he tried to think of what the man told him. "I don't know. Jerry... Terry.... Ernie! That's it. Ernie. Said he just started and was a transfer for Northwest and that's why he wasn't on the schedule."

"And he took the car...?"

"Yes." Walter replied, exasperated.

"Well, there is some truth to that story. We did find the car parked at the south gate but no sign of a second guard. And, the south and west gates were both unlocked." Cocking his head to the side, Gregson studied the confusion on the man's face as the guard tried to make sense of it.

Sherlock shifted and turned in his seat to face the table. "I took the liberty of checking the car and the crane that was used in the theft; both completely clean of fingerprints, hair samples and anything else related to somebody else in the car with you, last night. I have also noticed that sometime prior to the theft and the men arriving, the security cameras that faced the dock side and those two gates, in particular, went black at exactly the same time you say you checked the front gate. That time was," he reached for the file folder Joan had placed on the table in front of her and had sat neglected during the interview, "12:15AM. The crane engine was still cooling when Detective Bell and I got there at 4:30, which means, the engine had been used and turned off no sooner than an hour and a half prior to you calling the police. Now, that gives you enough time to open the west gate, drive to the south gate, park the car and or open that gate as well, and then use the golf cart I found hidden under a tarp beside the west gate, to transport you from the south gate back to the west gate, close it after you let the thieves in, and then walk around to the north side of the yard where you can observe the theft gone wrong." He sighed as his words had been a lot to say in his normal quick pace but as he stared back at the astonished guard, he wasn't sure he had the complete details of what he had surmised.

Walter shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what you guys are pulling but I didn't drive no car or a golf cart. That thing doesn't even run and when it does, it putters along at a zooming speed of two miles an hour. I'm telling you, there was another guard there with me. Dark hair, beard, looked like he just came out of his mother's basement." He turned to look at Sherlock and tried not to let the anger into his voice but wasn't making it so well. "If he wasn't anywhere in that yard, he musta been one of them. I've been on that dock for fifteen years, why would I pull something like that now?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man. A considerable frown on his face as he tried to decipher the man's explanation.

Raising a hand to rub his forehead, hoping his headache would go away, Gregson sighed again and excused the man.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gregson stood against the wall of the Interrogation Room while Joan and Detective Bell sat in the chairs across from the injured thief. Sherlock had chosen to watch from the adjacent wall, next to the two-way mirror. "Why don't you tell us how you got that bullet wound while stealing crates full of illegal drugs and guns on the dock. Boss decide ten people was too much to split the profits with?" He was less than thrilled to be talking to someone who managed to get shot by his own friends while breaking the law. Gregson did, however, want to hear the man out and hopefully get to the bottom of the case rather quickly.

"I don't got anything to say to you." The New York born Hispanic man sat slumped in his chair. A young man of about early twenties and already streetwise but had been lucky enough to avoid the police's hospitality. 

Joan flipped through the papers in front of her. She looked up at him when she didn't find any priors for him. "So far, you have a clean record. But, it's only a matter of time before you get caught for something and end up right back here. These people you're working for are dangerous. Someone in your group killed four of your friends and then made off with the rest of the shipment. Sitting there, staying silent about these dangerous people and the weapons and drugs that are about to hit the streets, won't keep you out of jail. But, helping us to put away this group might get you some leniency."

The man shook his head and scoffed at the idea of it being a double-cross. "I don't know, man. I was just hired to get the stuff outta the thing and load it into a truck." Nursing the bandaged wound on his upper right arm, Joe Domingues was technically done talking to the cops but wanted to see if a deal could be reached for his co-operation.

"Who hired you? Give me a name." Gregson stared at the disheveled man.

Shaking his head and reclining back in his chair, Joe shook his head again. "I don't know the dude's name. All I know is that me and a few guys were hired to do a job on a dock. He said his boss was some big shot from Detroit. That's all I know, man!"

Bell watched the man shift and add a nervous habit of bouncing his left leg, mostly to distract him from the pain in his arm. "Okay. Let's start at the beginning. Where'd the shipment come from?"

"Aw, man." Joe groaned under his breath. "Look, I don't know. Some dude shows up, they go into the office and chat and play nicey nice for awhile, then the dude leaves. Everything else is beyond my pay grade, ya know?" He shifted and groaned again.

Bell opened his pad and took out his pen from between the pages. "Describe him."

"Long black coat, dark suit, long blond hair and a fedora. He shows up in a black town car with a driver, like he's a miracle worker or something. I think the dude said his name is 'Lee' or something. And frankly, he scares me more than you do." Joe's nervous habit was getting worse, as if he were coming off drugs, only no detoxing.

Gregson, who had been staring at the floor out of boredom but listening to the conversation, looked up at the man in shock. "What did you say?" 

Shrugging and shifting in his chair, the man eyed the captain. "I said I ain't scared of you."

"The name. What's his name?" Gregson repeated.

"Just some guy named 'Lee'."

The captain wet his dry lips with his barely moist tongue, swallowed nervously and without another word, left the room and made his way back to his office to sort through paperwork and files in his desk's top drawer. A minute later there was a knock on his open office door and Marcus stepped in with Joan and Sherlock behind him. Without looking up and still sorting through his open files, he stopped when he came to the last file and pulled it out from under the stack of five or six. He sat down in his chair and held the file in his hands. Sighing, breathing and swallowing the lump in his throat, Gregson finally tossed the file onto his desk and looked up at the three the stood before him. "About ten or so years ago, I was working undercover on a case of prostitution. I was working for a rival pimp moving his girls into another pimp's territory. The pimp I was working under was well-armed thanks to a high-grade supplier. One night, there was a party for the crew. Celebrating the rival's demise and acquisition of his girls. Nice, posh party in a fancy hotel suite. Party gets underway and I'm guarding the door. I have almost what I'm looking for to shut the operation down. I have a chance to send it over the top by catching them receiving a shipment of drugs, the next week. There's a knock on the door and this guy's standing there like... a VIP... Pimp invites him in and the party continues." He paused and looked away to take a breath. When he looked back, he swallowed again before continuing. "Come to find out this guy in a long black coat and expensive suit was the supplier." Gregson tapped the folder on his desk. "Lee Sawyer. He is a very cool cat under pressure and smart, too." Gregson sat back. "When it came time for the bust, Sawyer had dropped out of sight, leaving the pimp with two hundred pounds of heroin headed to the Canadian border."

Marcus sat down in the chair across from the captain. "He set up his own customer?"

"Not quite. In a weird twist of fate, the pimp was about to get rid of Sawyer and take the profits for himself. Sawyer got wise to the plan and decided to terminate the business partnership himself but not before his car was riddled full of holes as a bon voyage gift from the pimp. Since then, he's been thought to be dead. Until now." Gregson flipped the cover open and turned it around to face them, giving them time to look over the man's arrest record.

Sherlock stood there with his ever-present thinking frown and read over Bell's shoulder. "You think he was the one who sabotaged the theft, last night?"

"Know but can't prove. So far, we're waiting on the ballistics to get back from the four dead thugs in the container. Sawyer rarely goes to the exchanges. If he is still alive, this would be his M.O." Gregson blinked and stared down at the upside down photo of the man he once knew.

Again, Sherlock was silent. He pieced together each of the stories, in his head and weighed them carefully. He knew his next trip was to the Medical Examiner's office to find out more on the men killed. Turning and stepping out of the office, he made his way out of the precinct and over to the next stop, without a word to anyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By mid afternoon, Ramsey was getting anxious. His customer would be furious to receive only half a shipment, unless his supplier could make up the difference. But the supplier hadn't arrived yet. The phone call to Marissa had been more stressful than he thought as he was feeling the pressure to get paid so that he could pay back Lee but he missed the step of telling the man he needed extra. Clearing his throat and sitting down in his chair, in his office, he promptly stood back up when a familiar town car pulled into the warehouse. "Lee!" With arms open and a smile on his face, he quickly made his way over to the man in black as he stepped out of the backseat as his driver opened the door. Throwing his arms around the man in an embrace, he quickly stepped back and threw his arm around Lee's shoulders, leading him back to his office. "Listen, man, I love your work and I'm happy to pay you but, I need a little more product for my customer." Ramsey released the man's shoulders and walked back around to his chair, behind his desk.

The supplier stopped in front of the desk, removing the black fedora he wore, holding it in his hands and stared at the man, unamused at the request. He spoke in a warm, casual tone, not implying at all that he was upset. "I delivered the full order. Now you want more? You aren't my only customer." A movement caught his eye and he turned his head to the right to find a terrified girl, sitting in a metal chair with green padding, staring at him. Her wrists and mouth had been duct taped but she was able to watch the two converse. He turned back to Ramsey and found the man searching his desk for the order. "Is this 'bring a kid to work' day?"

"The brat saw the operation. Old man she was with was full of holes and they didn't want to kill a kid." Ramsey stopped and looked back up at him. "I tell you what, get me the rest of the order and you can have the brat for whatever you want. Huh?"

Again, Lee was unamused at the offer but couldn't resist writing his own price for the extra amount. "I'll have them for you in a few days. Best I can do." Turning and replacing his hat on his head, he walked back to the car but was stopped as Ramsey chased after him.

"Wait! Wait! Look, I know this is a bind but I'm really needing them by tonight. This customer is my biggest one and she pays really well." Ramsey caught up with him and stopped him before he climbed into the backseat. "Alright, I'll let you have my cut too... and, anything else you might find.... desirable." Licking his lips and smiling, he hoped the cold stare he received was an indication of favour towards his offer.

Lee narrowed his eyes at the shorter man but the deal was too good to pass up. He and Ramsey had been intimate before and he liked how non-personal the dealer had taken the affair. "What time?"

"Nine thirty." 

"I'll text you an address. Be there at five. Bring the girl. If I like what I see, I'll have the extra waiting in a van." Leaning in closer as if to kiss the man, he stopped. "Don't be late." Without another word, Lee climbed back into the backseat and let his driver shut the door before making his way around to the driver's side and climbing in.

 

Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator doors opened to a penthouse office; a sprawling room with peach carpeting and white walls. The two men stepped out and looked around their settings. A pink sofa, still kept up from the 80s, sat not twenty feet in front of them whilst a dark, mahogany desk ran parallel to the wall of windows that looked out, over the darkened city. Both men dressed in Armani suits and Brunello Cucinellis. Soft lighting from simple table lamps, on either side of the sofa that sat adjacent to the desk and faced them, gave the room a romantic but still business mood. 

A door opened from their left and an attractive woman in her thirties stepped out and greeted them. "Gentlemen, good of you to come." Waving a bare, elegant arm to the pink sofa, she closed the door behind her and crossed the nearly empty room and met them halfway. A beautiful woman looking much too thin and young for a revered woman of her expertise. Long golden hair pulled back into a tight twist, leaving short strings of diamonds dangling from the fold of her hairdo to accent her wealth. "My, my, Ramsey. Aren't we looking tasty." A coy wink accented with her caramel tone as she looked from the older man to the younger, more handsome man that stood to his lover's left. Small, tight mouth glossed with red lipstick and a devilish grin. She paused as the door she came out of opened again and a well-muscled man dressed in black stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Ramsey smiled to the hostess and turned to look over at the bodyguard as he came to stand between the sofa and the elevator. "Marissa, looking very sexy, as usual." Ramsey took her hands in his and kissed her cheek before releasing her to watch her move to sit on the corner of the desk, crossing her ankles. "I trust my shipment is on it's way."

"Of course. No need to worry yourself with details." Once again, waving an arm over to the sofa, she asked them to sit. "Drinks, Sam." She tossed a glance over at her bodyguard, who moved to the far wall consisting of cabinets and a wet bar, that ran along the wall between the elevator and the windows. "Scotch, gentlemen?" Giving a subtle smile to Ramsey, who gave a nod, she shifted and let her gaze linger on the man's silent partner. Inhaling, she caught the young man's faint cologne. "Tell me, Ramsey, where did you find this handsome young thing?" She asked as her eyes worked their way up from the man's brown loafers up to his waist and across his chest. 

Ramsey smiled and sat down on the middle cushion. "Isn't he delicious? I went to my usual Tuesday night event and this frisky young morsel caught my eye." Relaxing and laying his left arm on the back of the sofa whilst he held his crystal tumbler of scotch in his right hand, he eyed his lover's firm backside as the younger man remained standing with his hands in his pockets.

Marissa slid off of the corner of the desk and stepped closer to the young man, a manicured hand reached up to run her fingers through the soft and shaggy blond hair and then down to caress his youthful face. Emerald eyes sparkled down at her with a quiet mystery hidden behind them. She smiled and sighed as her hands moved to his taut chest, hidden carefully behind a midnight blue shirt. "Mm." Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she reached around to squeeze the firm half moons of his ass, sheathed in his light gray suitpants. 

The man on the sofa smiled and watched her explore the younger man, with glee. "His name's Lee." Taking a sip of the drink Sam had handed him, and focusing on her hands as she continued to play with Lee's firm mounds, he almost wished the meeting was over so that he could have the tasty young thing all to himself. Yet, it was just as fun watching the woman squirm and explore the new toy he had brought along.

She leaned in and inhaled his clean scent. "Heavenly." 

Lee stood there patiently, quietly and taking mental notes of the inquisitive woman and of the meeting, itself. A soft moan escaped him as she raised up on the balls of her feet and licked the side of his neck. He hadn't moved from his stance, even as she explored and prodded him. Casual glances over to his lover to find the older man enjoying the show, had earned a subtle grin. Still, he said nothing and let her continue her examination of him, feeling excited with every touch.

"Tell me, Lee, do you prefer the feel of a hot, wet sex around your manhood, or do you love to bend over whilst he rams his rock hard pole deep into your tight ass?" Marissa winked. Her amber eyes sparkled as they stared into his deep emerald ones. Her hand slid back around to place her palm on his chest and feel his heartbeat. A startled gasp as Lee captured the hand on his chest and used it to spin her around and bend her over the side of her desk, pressing his groin against her own tight backside. Her eyes flicked over to Sam, who unfolded his stoic position and stepped closer. She gave a small shake of her head, indicating not to interfere and kept her eyes on him as he stepped back to clasp his hands in front of him and watch the scene unfold.

Leaning over and whispering softly into her right ear, he answered. "Actually, I prefer to have him bend over for _my_ 'rock hard pole' up _his_ ass." Lee lingered there, letting her feel the swell behind his zipper before glancing back to smirk over at Ramsey. Kissing the back of her right shoulder, he released her wrist that he held behind her back, and carefully helped her to stand up and turn around. "But, I enjoy both, as well." He spoke in regular tone, soft richness with deep tones when needed.

Ramsey laughed out loud and stood up, placing his tumbler beside Lee's neglected one, on the side table. "He is a handful, my dear." 

Marissa rubbed her palm against Lee's arousal. Her mouth opened slightly and she gasped as he cupped her hand and held it against him. "What is the going price for this handsome devil?"

Smiling and stepping forward to run a hand through Lee's soft hair, Ramsey shared a smile with the shorter woman. "I'm sorry, my dear. He informs me that he's not on the market. However, if you wish to take him for a test drive, it will only cost you an audience. I've always wanted to watch this fine specimen work but, between falling in love and then coming so ungodly hard when he orgasms, I always seem to miss out." He glanced at the other man to find him casually looking back as if enjoying being fondled.

Inhaling Lee's clean scent again, Marissa backed away. "Business first, darling." She returned to her desk and opened the top right drawer, removing a narrow brown folder the size of a business envelope, thick with several bundles of cash and held it in her hand. Walking back around to where Ramsey stood, she presented the folder to him with a word of thanks and an order for "100 more units." She, in turn, accepted a white envelope full of a thicker mound of money inside.

"I expect this shipment to be unmarred? My last order came with several damaged goods, from your suppliers." Ramsey's voice dropped pleasantries and gave the woman a stern look as he placed the folder he was given into an inside left breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Marissa stood in front of him, her right foot tilted back to rest on her four-inch black shoe heel. "Of course. They were minor catches and won't be underestimated, again." She emphasised her words with a raise of an elegant eyebrow. She sat on the edge of the desk and gave a sly grin to Lee. "Maybe next time we can have a party...?" Easing her legs open and winking at him, she caught a smirk from the handsome man before he and Ramsey made their way back to the lift and down to the garage.

Once the doors closed and the car started moving, Ramsey opened his coat and removed the envelope he was given by Marissa. Opening the envelope and taking his share of the earnings, he promptly closed the envelope without a look over to the man beside him. "I trust this is enough?" He held up the envelope for his partner to take.

Lee casually accepted the envelope and tucked it into his own inside right pocket, smoothing the lining before speaking. "I should charge extra for her petting session, however, this'll do just fine." 

"Yes, but the show was exciting to watch." Ramsey smiled and eyed the other man. "Marissa was just making sure you left your gun in the car."

Sighing but keeping his eyes on the doors in front of him, Lee waited with his hands tucked into his pockets. "I assure you, I only carry if I need to. Also," Removing his hands from his pockets and turning to shove Ramsey's back against the wall, hands pressed against the wall on either side of him, and leaning close, he said under his breath, "I have more than one way to protect myself." They stared at each other for a moment as the car came to the bottom lot and stopped. Releasing the other man, Lee stepped back. "Are you certain about this order?"

Ramsey nodded.

"Alright then." The doors opened and the two men slipped into a long black limo with mirrored windows.

~~~~~~~~~

Captain Gregson poured himself a cup of coffee from the freshly made pot and stirred in two packets of sugar before turning to see Marcus walk up to him. "Where are we with the serial numbers on the remaining guns?"

"No such luck. They've either been filed off or seared off with some type of heating element. Sherlock is looking into trying to raise the numbers with magnets and metal shavings." Marcus handed Gregson a packet of papers listing the recovered weapons and drugs from the attempted shipment and read off a few of the makes and models that were said to have been destroyed in Detroit, three years prior.

Glancing through the paperwork, Gregson paused and removed his mobile phone from pocket to check the message that just buzzed in. Sighing and realising he had left his reading glasses on his desk, he told Marcus to get with Joan on Mister Harris's condition whilst he took care of some things. Walking back to his desk and sitting down in his chair, he stared at the phone screen as he put his glasses on. 

**"Hello Bobby!  
** Parking garage on W 54th  
Across from Devonshire Business Park.  
third level stairwell. 4 PM" 

Gregson sat back and thought about his undercover alias and meeting the elusive supplier. At first, he hadn't wanted to go but his second thought had been nagging at him for 10 years. After checking the time, he finished up his paperwork and hurried out of the squadroom, down to the garage, to meet the man he had thought dead years prior.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The towncar pulled in to the parking structure and wound its way up to the third level before backing in to a space along the inside wall. With the engine shut off and the key removed, Lee stepped out of the driver's side and made his way over to the stairwell and opened the door and found the stairwell empty. He had arrived only minutes before the captain did. Lee took a breath and walked over to stand beside the stairs leading up, his back resting against the wall. A moment or so later, the door opened and Captain Gregson stepped in, letting the door close behind him. He smiled as the captain stepped closer to him. "The gray hair looks good on you, Bobby. Very distinguished... and handsome."

"The name's Captain Thomas Gregson of the New York Police Department." Gregson looked at the younger man, unwilling to voice how the supplier hadn't changed much over the years, either. He noted the relaxed position of the man's stance, as if he weren't suspecting to meet a foe or law enforcement officer, or captain.

Lee smirked. "That sounds a lot better than Bobby Garrett, the door thug for a second-rate pimp. Captain suits you, though."

Gregson moved to lean against the wall beside the door. "Wanna tell me how you got my personal mobile number? How about why, after ten years, I hear your name from a suspect and the next thing I know, you're texting me to meet you in a parking garage?" He watched as Lee looked away with a flinch when he heard "suspect" in the statement. Pushing off of the wall and stepping closer, he grabbed the right lapel of the younger man's coat and ground his teeth together as he added the rest of what he had waited so long to say. "Or, I could just arrest you now for past crimes and if this shipment comes up with your greasy paw prints on them, that's even better."

His head still turned away, Lee agreed. "You could. However, if you arrest me now, you'll miss out on what I have to offer. Once you sit me down in your interrogation room, I... well, I could start to" bowing his head and raising a hand to stroke his forehead, "feel a terrible wave of amnesia come over me." Lee dropped his feigning and straightened to turn and look at the captain, who now stood mere inches from him. "I did hand you Chester and his operation. At the very least, I think you owe me an unbiased ear, Captain Thomas Gregson of the NYPD."

Clearing his throat nervously and shifting again, Gregson released the man's coat and folded his arms. "Two minutes. Go."

Lee shoved his hands into his coat pockets and took a breath before speaking. "I hear there was a break-in at the shipyards, the other night. Half a container full of weapons and other materials were taken, as well as a young girl."

Gregson slammed Lee's back against the wall and growled. "Anything happens to her..."

"No, nothing's happened to her. She's fine; a little tired, a little scared, a lot malnourished, but she's fine." Lee smirked at the closeness of the captain and his little display of anger towards the supplier. He groaned as Gregson slammed him, again, against the wall and hadn't let go of him. "Arrest me now and you'll never find her." He waited for Gregson to release him and step back before casually brushing the wrinkles out of his lapels and continued. "My driver is with her. If you hear my proposal, I'll hand her over to you. All I want is a favour."

"What?" Captain Gregson was getting bored but was still intrigued with the supplier.

"A dozen or so years ago, there was a woman; Suzette. She was apart of Chester's... minagerie. When he was busted, she was free to be her own woman, again. She had saved up a few dollars and was able to go back to school and get a good job. I heard she got married and bought a house somewhere quiet. I heard she died not too long ago." Lee met eyes with the captain and paused to take a breath.

Gregson's expression hadn't changed from monotone. "And you want me to find you another one?"

Lee smirked and contained a laugh. "No. Before she died, I saw her, walking through downtown, with her daughter. My daughter. I was away on business when Suzette died. All I ask, is that you find my daughter. In exchange, I'll give you two dealers and myself."

Looking around for a camera or a gag line, Gregson laughed. "Are you serious, right now? Is this a joke or a set up?" He turned around and reached for the doorhandle. 

"Her name is Samantha, the girl you're looking for. Correct?" Lee's expression was plain as the captain turned to look at him. "There's a shipment coming in tomorrow night, from Boston. Adults, mainly but,..." he was cut off as Gregson finished the statement for him.

"But, you've had a change of heart and want some of the goods, too. Is that it?"

"....there's children in there, as well." They stared at one another as Lee finally had the captain's complete attention. "My customer struck up a deal with one of his buyers and the order was placed for 26 units, more than half are children under the age of 16. Aside from the fact that I don't enjoy the idea of going to prison, I have even less enthusiasm for the buying and selling of children. Especially, when one might be my daughter. I am asking for your discretion and cooperation. A deal?" Lee held out a hand to cement the pact and waited for the captain to comply.

Against Gregson's better judgement, he shook the man's hand and knew it was a bad idea.

 

Continued


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock sat on the sofa, in the front room and stared at the massive collage of paperwork and photos of the shipyards as well as a large diagram the he had hanging above the fireplace. His arms limp at his sides and his ever-present "thinking" frown on his thin face. He sat there for a good hour before his mobile rang and he waited until after the third ring to answer it, as it sat on the cushion beside him. "Yes, Watson." As she talked, he stared at the photos on the wall. The strings that lead from the individual photos to adjoining photos, linking the crime of the dock, together. 

"Marcus and I are going to talk to the security guard, again. The video tape from the gas station across the street told a different story than the one he gave us." Watson walked down the pavement to where Marcus stood, next to his car, his hands in his pockets as he waited. "We've just seen Mister Harris and he's doing better, sitting up. Have you matched where the guns came from, yet?"

Still sitting on the sofa and staring at the collage above the fireplace, Sherlock was silent a moment. 

Joan checked her phone to see if he had hung up or not. Finding she was still connected, she spoke his name. "Sherlock?"

At the mention of his name, he was brought back to where he sat and looked from the wall to his phone, beside him. "Yes. The guns found in the crates came from a small group of radicals from Honduras called, Don Muertos. Our elusive supplier has had many contacts with them but I am asking Everyone to use their resources to find what the total number shipped was and to keep an eye out for any more coming to that particular port in the next week. I have also had Everyone dig into city records to find out who this 'Lee Sawyer' is and track down a possible address for him. Also, I am going to be meeting with the Captain to re interview the thug currently residing in lockup, for a possible name of his immediate boss." Sherlock had returned to looking up at the collage but felt the buzz of his call waiting and picked up his mobile to look at the name of the second caller. "The Captain is calling me. I will get in touch with you later, Watson. Bye." With a cheerful "bye" he clicked over to the second call. "Captain."

Gregson sat at his desk and shuffled through his paperwork he had spread out, on his desk. He sighed and scratched his forehead as Sherlock answered his call. "Your buddies at Interpol come up with anything on the name I gave you?" After spending the morning going over names and photos of known prostitutes, from years past, Gregson hit a dead end and decided to call in reinforcements through Sherlock's contacts, in London. He had given Sherlock the name of Suzette and only a small backstory of how Lee and Suzette came to meet. After finding out that Lee and Suzette each had a rap sheet a mile long, outside of the country, Gregson was true to his word to find Lee's daughter, in the hopes of finding Samantha and saving the incoming batch of sex slaves due in, in a few hours.

"As of yet, nothing but they have a few more names on their list that I gave to them so, I hope to hear something from them, soon. I have found out, on my own, that a Mister Lee Sawyer suffered a gunshot wound nine years ago but instead of going to hospital, a doctor was kidnapped from Sinai Hospital and returned three days later, unharmed. The doctor's staff and colleagues believed him to be the apparent victim of a gang-related kidnapping, as the car that both kidnapped him and brought him back was unmarked and had mirror-tinted windows. The car was later found abandoned and torched in an alley, not far from where the DSC gang prefers to hang out. The doctor refused to address where he had been held and was subsequently drummed out of his job as chief physician. This doctor's name happened to be, Parker Harris." Sherlock's eyes never left the photo of Lee that hung above his fireplace, as he spoke.

The captain was silent for a long time as he digested what he heard. "How do you know it was Lee that kidnapped him and then brought him back?"

Sherlock debated telling the captain the name of the people he asked for help and then decided against it, as it might scare the captain away from asking for his help, in similar situations. "I have been studying the file you handed Watson of Sawyer and spent last night going over every line of the man's fingerprints. His fingerprints were found on several large bills that were spent at a drug store on Harvey Street, not far from a motel where a man checked in with his 'ailing brother' and 'personal doctor'. The bills are long gone but the camera footage from the drug store's street cameras still remain. I also took the liberty of having a satellite capture done of the motel and have picked out three figures going inside the motel lobby, one of which had long blond hair."

Gregson listened and removed his mobile phone from his pocket and stared at the screen as he read the text. "I think we need to talk to Mister Harris, again. Something went on, in that motel room, more than just a simple patch up job."

~~~~~~~~

"Mister Greene, you stated that you only heard the shots and came running from the far end of the yard, correct?" Joan and Marcus walked with the man on his rounds of the dock. They walked along the dockside and made their way slowly back to the guard shed. 

The guard rubbed the back of his neck as he thought back to his original statement. "Yea, I came around from over there," he kept walking but turned to point where the van had been, "and they were right there, firing at each other and that" he turned again to the empty contained, now filled with holes and ricochet marks, "there." He pointed to the bottom faded red container, off Marcus's left shoulder as the detective walked to Greene's left and Joan to his right.

Marcus stopped as he passed the container. "Where would you say you were, on the other side of the containers?" He pointed to the container but motioned for the gateside of the lot.

Greene stopped walking and sighed deeply. "A few rows down, I guess." He pointed to the fourth row of containers over from the one that was shot.

Marcus nodded as he looked at the rows in front of him. "Why didn't you come down any of the rows leading up to the end, to check? Why run all the way around, when you heard the shots?" As a detective, he hadn't wanted civilians in harm's way but he had noticed the guard was armed with both an issued .9mm as well as a radio and mobile phone.

"You didn't hear how loud those shots were. It was like being in the middle of a firework show!" The guard became a angry at his lack of aid. He had turned to look at Marcus as the detective asked the question. "Yea, I was scared and yea, I coulda come down any of the rows but, man, it was loud." He took a few breaths and continued walking to the guard shed. "I also left my weapon in the shed."

As Joan walked along side them, she glanced back at the container and then turned to gage just how far from the scene the shed was. "The police gathered up the Harrises belongings but didn't find a green photobook, anywhere. Maybe one of the other guards found it? It belonged to the girl that was kidnapped."

Another sigh from the guard as they reached the shed and he removed his ring of keys from his pocket to unlock the door. "Since that 'Ernie' guy was a no-show, I've been working doubles. I'm too tired to see any book. There's only one other guard and he didn't show, today, either. But, you're welcomed to look." He opened the door and waved them inside, first.

Joan stepped in behind Marcus and briefly looked around the cluttered room before turning and looking out the window that faced the crime scene. She pointed to the yellow police tape that quardened off the scene and asked the guard to describe what he saw, from where she stood. "How far is it from here to the tape?"

"About a quarter mile." Another heavy sigh from the tired guard as he stepped in and stood next to her. "I came around the end of the rows, came in, looked up and saw bright lights and a bunch of guys swarming around the container. I called police and tried to stay outta sight until the police came."

Marcus nodded. "So, you didn't even try to help Mister Harris or his daughter?"

Walter Greene turned around and stared at the detective, almost in rage. "I'm sorry that happened to them. It's usually a quiet shift. Rarely anything other than catchin a few bums, crawlin' over the gate or starting fires in the parking lot, happens. That was the first time in 15 years I have ever needed to use that gun. I'll be 61 in two months. I can't afford to get myself worked up into a state, before I retire."

As the guard turned back around to look out the window, Marcus nodded at the explanation and looked about himself. "Is this your weapon?" He noted the locked piece sitting atop a stack of papers, and pointed to it.

Turning back, the guard looked to where Marcus pointed. "Yea." The shed was barely big enough to hold three people on its own, let alone filled with a file cabinet, three monitors for the grounds' cameras and an old office chair. Two of the four walls that faced the windows were lined with a narrow, long desk that was lined with paperworks and folders.

Another nod as Marcus looked more closely at the stack of papers with the weapon on top. "You don't lock your weapon up?"

"You see a safe around here? There's barely room for one person, let alone two AND a safe. Besides, the windows are thick plastic and the door is locked." Walter was becoming annoyed with their questions and just wanted the day to be overwith so that he could go home to sleep.

Marcus spotted a small corner to a bright green folder and lifted the paperwork to see what it was. "Joan." Pulling out the book and holding it up for her to see, they both looked at the flustered guard with more questions. "This belongs to the girl that was kidnapped. How'd you end up with it?"

Walter stared at the book in Marcus' hand with curiosity. "Never saw it before."

"Your weapon was laying right on top of it and you've never seen this book before?" Marcus quirked an eyebrow.

Shaking his head, Walter shrugged. "I ain't paid to watch things in the guard shed. I get paid to watch things out there." Waving a hand to the windows, he eyed the book with wonder. He hadn't seen it, nor had he remembered it being there when he laid his weapon down, at the start of his shift but then, it was barely a corner that stuck out for Marcus to find.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Gregson stood beside Mister Harris' bed and waited for the man to adjust his position on the bed, to a more comfortable position, before he asked his questions. "Mister Harris, eight years ago, you were abducted by two men, to treat a gunshot wound. Do you remember that day?" He eyed the man and his bandages and bruises and felt the smallest bit of pain for the man as Mister Harris groaned with each movement.

Parker Harris paled at the mention of the kidnapping. He shook his head nervously. "No, can't say that I do. Why?"

Sherlock stood at the end of the bed and watched with the same "thinking frown" he always had when piecing together a case. 

The captain nodded. "I think you do and it might be best advised to come clean. You might be able to help find your daughter, before something happens to her."

Parker sighed and shook his head in defeat. "I went to work that afternoon as a split after a double shift. I was tired and there was this car stopped in the middle of the lane, just before the entrance. He was just sitting there, like he was waiting for someone. I started to walk behind it and the car backed up. The next thing I know, the window lowered and a gun was pointed at me. He told me to get in." He looked from one man to the other and wondered what he was supposed to say next.

Gregson removed a photo from his inside jacket pocket and showed it to Parker. "Is this the man?"

Parker shifted and cleared his throat, looking around the room, nervously. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want my daughter back." He swallowed as he met eyes again with the captain.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "You're afraid of a man you haven't seen for eight years. That gives the possibility that he holds something over your head. This man is also looking for his own daughter, lost somewhere in the mix. In fact, it wasn't very long after you were returned from aiding the man in the photo, that you quit from your job as physician and started to have mysterious things happen to you and your family. After your wife died, you decided to disappear from view, with your daughter, and you would have been successful had it not been for the shipment gone wrong on the docks. Tell us, what does Lee Sawyer hold over your head?"

Parker shook his head more sternly. "I think I need to see a lawyer, about now." Clamming up with that statement, he looked away from them and refused to say anything more.

"Did he threaten you, in some way?" Captain Gregson leant forward and asked in a low voice.

Parker shook his head. "I can't break confidentiality. Please go."

Gregson leant in closer, his hands on the rail. "Not even to save your daughter?"

Swallowing and closing his eyes, Parker didn't answer.

Sherlock followed the captain out of the room and down the hallway, pausing briefly as the captain's mobile buzzed, in his pocket, and Gregson took it out to check the message. 

Looking up from his mobile, Gregson took a breath. "Bell says they found the photo book, in the guard shack, at the docks. They're heading back to the precinct now." They started walking again and were almost to the lift when his mobile buzzed again. This time, he stared at the screen until Sherlock cleared his throat to get his attention. Looking up and stepping into the car, Gregson went back to staring at his mobile screen. "How good are you with teenagers?"

Sherlock gave him a raised brow look but shrugged to answer the question. "The homeless teenager has been found, then? You've been staring at your mobile since we've exited Mister Harris' room. Is it my surmise to say that the elusive Mister Sawyer has contacted you with her whereabouts?" He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. 

"The driver dropped her off at a diner downtown. Asks if we can pick her up, soon." Gregson clicked off the screen and placed his mobile back into his pocket.

 

Continued


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****WARNING!!****
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE THEMES AND DRUG USE. IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE THAT, DON'T READ THE LAST PORTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Captain Gregson was the first step into the diner and slowly comb through the patrons' faces until he found a young teen, sitting by herself, huddling close to a warm cup of cocoa. Nodding in her direction as Sherlock stepped in, behind him, he cautiously walked over to the far corner booth and sat down across from her. "Samantha? Samantha Harris?" He asked as he sat down. When she didn't look up from her cup, he continued. "My name's Captain Thomas Gregson of the NYPD." He pointed to his badge on his right lapel and watched her as her eyes moved slowly up to where he pointed. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" He turned and waved over a thirties-ish waitress with mousy hair. "How about a burger... and a warm up on her cocoa?" Gregson glanced at the woman briefly before he looked back to watch Samantha's expressions change from blank to sad and back again.

Samantha inhaled raggedly as she stared sombrely into her cup. The drink had warmed her hands and she had only sipped at half of the cup full, which was topped with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. She was clean and given a warm coat to wear, with soft, knit gloves. She released her breath as the plate of burger and fries was placed in front of her. 

Getting impatient sitting in a chair across from the booth, Sherlock leant forward and waited for Samantha to take her first bite of hamburger, chew and swallow and then replace the burger to the plate ad sat back. "The two men that kidnapped you, did you see their faces or where they kept you?"

She slowly turned her eyes to look at him. Samantha sat back on the bench and turned to look at the captain. 

"Miss Harris, anything you can tell us about either of your captors would be helpful. The sooner we can put these bad men away, the sooner you and your father can live in peace." The captain shifted and watched her expression change at the mention of her father. 

Samantha's lips parted and she swallowed, dryly. "My dad?" She whispered.

Gregson nodded. "He's alive. Recovering in the hospital." He paused for a few seconds. "The man with the long blond hair, did he take you from the dock yard?"

Samantha shook her head. She sat there and blinked at him, biting her lip as she thought about speaking. "He didn't know I was listening but I heard his name; Ramsey. He and the man with the hair were very chummy, like 'get a room' chummy but, Ramsey was the one doing most of the drooling."

Gregson let her finish her meal before he and Sherlock escorted her back to the precinct. He let her rest in his office, and she did just that, falling asleep instantly as her head hit the arm of the grey sofa. He watched her sleep for a while as he stood in the doorway to his office. His mobile rang from his pocket and he pulled it out to look at the screen. Hitting the ANSWER button, he turned and walked away from his office as he spoke. "Should I be impressed that you were kind enough to pay for her cocoa?"

"Oh, so you did get the package? Wonderful!" The voice sounded delighted that Gregson had found Samantha, first. 

Gregson stared at the yellow tiling on the wall and sighed. "Cut the shit, Sawyer. I'm tired of these games. This time, it's on MY terms. Wooden Nickel, forty-five minutes." He hung up and turned to look back at the sleeping teen on the sofa. Before he left, he told Marcus and Joan to keep an eye on her until he returned and quickly made his way over to the lift to head down to the lobby. He drove his own car, instead of hailing a taxi and negated the siren and light, as not to scare off his potential arrest. He parked several car lengths up from the pub door and looked around the evening street as he stepped out and up, onto the walk. He spotted a man leaning against the front passenger door of a dark coloured towncar and looking in his general direction.

~~~~~~~~~

Gregson stepped inside the back of the towncar and sat down. "This wasn't what I meant."

Lee sat beside him, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. "What I have to say is not for listening ears in a noisy bar." He listened for the driver's door to close before tapping on the divider window that separated the backseat from the front. The car pulled forward and out into traffic. He stared out his passenger window and waited until they rounded the corner, to the left, before speaking again. "By now, the girl has told you the name of my customer, who had abducted her, correct?"

"Yea." Gregson shifted in his seat. "Some guy by the name of Ramsey. He's got a rap sheet a mile long, just like you. I'm getting tired of this cat and mouse nonsense, Sawyer. Tell me where he is so I can arrest him and keep my city safe." He stared at the man, hating his calm demeanour.

Lee turned to face Gregson and grinned. "It's funny, isn't it? Keeping the city 'safe', 'cat and mouse' and ultimately, you want to arrest me but you just can't seem to do it. Can you, 'Bobby'?" Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his thin nose, he closed his eyes and relaxed a moment before opening them again and staring into the eyes of an upset police captain. "If you want me in cuffs, by all means... please. I like role-playing as much as the next man. Although, I won't let you arrest me, just yet."

His hands fisted in his lap as the man edged closer. "There's no trace of your daughter, or Suzette. You're full of shit, Sawyer. Yankin' my chain to keep out of jail until you find some way of worming away from me, again. I could charge you with obstruction of justice, for starters. Other charges could include; facilitating a kidnapping, arms dealing, prostitution, and bribing an officer of the law." Gregson raised an eyebrow at Lee's amusement.

"Bribing." Lee laughed. "I gave you the girl, in tact. I bartered myself, for her. Casual sex for the life of a child, is not something I take lightly. You should thank me for that. My customer and his companion would not hesitate to include her in their slave trade. When I asked her, she assured me Ramsey had not broken her. I have delivered her to you, untouched. All I have asked you for, Captain Thomas Gregson of the New York Police Department, is to find my daughter."

Gregson was becoming bored with his chatter. "What's the point, Lee?" He noted that Lee spoke of the teen as a person and not a unit of measure as many in his position often did. Gregson also noted the care of the girl, as she sat in the restaurant; calm, clean and rested and cared for while she waited for police to arrive.

Lee paused and smiled at the mention of his first name. He checked his wristwatch and then rapped twice on the divider window with a knuckle, signaling his driver to stop. "I have to be somewhere, in a few hours. After this, I promise the city will be clean, again." The car came to a stop next to Gregson's, down the way from the pub they had met in front of. "Those few months as Chester's doorman taught you nothing, Captain?" He winked and leant forward to kiss Captain Gregson on the lips with a taste of passion to it and, with slight effort, his tongue forced it's way into Gregson's mouth and sparred before the captain pushed him away and opened the door to step out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gregson walked into the stationhouse with a purpose. He tapped a finger against his leg as he waited for the lift doors to open on his floor before he walked briskly towards his office. Finding Joan sitting in a chair, at the table beside the sofa, he stepped in and softly said her name. When she turned to look up at him, he kept his voice low as not to wake the teen, who was still unconscious in an exhausted sleep. Crouching down to her level, he whispered to her. "You said you found the photobook she had. Where is it?" 

Joan stood and turned to point to Marcus' desk and she led the way out of his darkened office, over to the young detective's desk to pick up the evidence bag and hand it to him. "What are you looking for? Did something happen while you were out?"

"Did Sherlock ever hear back from his contacts at Scotland Yard?" Gregson didn't answer her questions but instead asked his own with determination as he focused on opening the bag with the book inside. He dumped the contents out, onto the desk and snatched it up to flip through it, searching for something Lee had hinted at. 

Checking her mobile, she shook her head. "No." Joan looked up and peered over his shoulder.

Gregson looked through the book carefully, checking out the object of the photos as well as the background. Sighing with discontent, his search came up empty. "Where did you find this? In the guard shack?"

Marcus came back from retrieving a fax and making copies for his report. "Sitting on the guard's desk, under some papers. He claimed he never saw it before."

Closing the book and looking back at his darkened office, Gregson found that Samantha had woken up and was sitting very patiently on the sofa, as if waiting for someone. Turning to Joan, he motioned towards his office. "Would you join me, please?"

Joan glanced over to the captain's office and nodded before she followed him back to where Samantha was waiting. 

"Samantha, this is Joan Watson, she's a consultant for the NYPD." Gregson introduced her as he closed the door behind her and offered Joan a seat. Taking the next, at the table, he turned to the teen and held up the photobook, for her to see. "Do you mind telling me, what secrets you have in this?"

Her brow furrowing as she struggled to chase away the cobwebs of sleep. "I don't have any secrets." Samantha shrugged and eyed the neon green 4x6 book. "It's just a family photo book. My mom gave it to me a few years ago and after she died, I just couldn't put it down." 

"Can you tell us what happened at the docks, leading up to the other night?" Joan sat with her legs crossed and jacket draped over her lap. She pulled out her notepad and pen and scribbled the notes down for Sherlock to examine, later. 

Clearing her throat and shrugging, Samantha watched the woman write as she recalled the days prior. "My dad and I usually waited for closing before we could go in and find an empty container. Mister Greene always let us warm up in the shack and have some hot drink, like tea or cocoa, before we went to bed. He was nice." She paused. Her eyes fixed on what Joan was writing. "Nothin' really outta the ordinary, though. There was a car that sat outside of the gate, on the South side. It sat there for a long time and then it just drove off, like it was waiting for something."

"A black Lexus?" Gregson interrupted.

"No. It was a SUV thing but smaller. A tan one." Samantha glanced at him and then looked back at Joan's notepad. 

Joan looked up at her. "Was this during the day, or night?"

Samantha sucked her teeth. "Day. About an hour before sundown."

Gregson nodded. "When you were taken and then handed over to him, have you ever seen the man with the long blond hair, before? Did he tell you his name or why he wanted you with him?"

"No. Who is he?" 

Clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, Gregson thought of how to explain the man to her. "His name's Lee Sawyer. He's.... not a nice man. He grew up in a bad form of society. Eight years ago, he was in a gun fight and kidnapped your dad to take care of him. After he was patched up, he released your dad. He must have said or did something because your dad won't talk about that night, to us. Are you sure you've never seen him before?"

Samantha thought. "Not him. The driver, though."

"You saw the driver?" Joan interrupted. She looked up to see the girl watching her and nodding to the question.

"Where did you see the driver?" Gregson leant forward, excited for any information to put Sawyer at the scene of the crime.

Samantha looked back to the captain and silently noted his excitement. "Two, three nights ago. He was talking to the security guard."

Joan asked, "Mister Greene?"

"No." Samantha shook her head. "He was one of the bad guys."

Gregson sighed and sat back. "How close were you to them? Could you hear any of what they were talking about?" He had wondered why the driver would have business with the guard. He watched her reaction as she shook her head slowly.

"I was too far."

Nodding and reassuring her that she did a good job, Gregson asked one more question. "Did you ever hear the driver's name?"

Another shake of her head before Samantha yawned. "When can I see my dad?" She eyed the captain with pleading eyes and worry in her voice.

Joan and the captain looked at each other before Joan spoke up. "We'll take you to see him, soon. How about something to eat, first? Are you hungry at all?"

Samantha shook her head and groaned. 

"Why not get something on the way, just in case?" Gregson offered. "Sound good?" He waited for Samantha to shrug and nod before nodding to Joan to take care of her whilst he looked through the green photobook, again. With a hand cupped at his mouth, he studied each photo carefully. Turning page after page until he reached the back of the book, he paused on a photo of a grave placard. Removing his mobile from his pocket, he flipped it open and scrolled through the numbers until he found Sawyer's last used one and text him a message: "Mercy Cemetery, Lot 115. 30 mins." Not waiting for a reply, Gregson closed the mobile and replaced it into his pocket before closing the book and standing up to reach for his coat, taking the book with him.

As he exited his office, a uniformed officer walked over to him, a folder in her hand. 

"Captain Gregson. Mister Holmes asked me to give this to you. He wanted to go with Miss Watson and the girl to the hospital. They just left." She was shorter than the captain and kept her hair in a usual tight braided bun.

The captain took the folder and thanked the officer as they parted company. Opening the folder and glancing at the contents as he made his way to the lift, he skimmed the top page and read the report fully, when he sat down in his car. The report had come from Canadian police and filled in the missing spots of his own report he had on Sawyer. Some of the report, he had expected. Other parts, not so much.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sawyer reclined on the suite's queen-sized bed. He was nude, save for lover/driver who was resting between his long, toned legs and occupying himself with Lee's firm manhood. He watched his lover take great pleasure in slowly licking and sucking the appendage, cleaning it thoroughly. Lighting a cigarette and exhaling the smoke, he listened to the soft mewls and breaths of the second man. 

A third man cleared his throat as he sat across the room, in a chair. Ramsey Gaither was also nude and fondled himself as he stared at the scene on the bed. He sat in the corner of the room and had requested the light be left on, for better viewing. After another moment of watching the two men, he leant over the table, beside him, and inhaled one more line through the rolled $50 bill and licked his lips as he caught Lee's eye. Rubbing his nose and sniffing before getting up to make his way over to the bed, he slowly climbed up to kneel beside the reclined Sawyer and lean forward to capture the man's mouth.

Lee groaned as his driver stopped his attentions on Lee's erection and instead slid off of the bed whilst Ramsey moved to top him. Placing a hand on Ramsey's chest, he reached over to snuff the cigarette in the ashtray, on the bedside table, and grab a condom, instructing the stoned dealer to put it on. A sigh of relief as Ramsey did as instructed before using his own saliva to coat the condom's tip before shoving himself deeply into the blond's tight hole. Before Lee could groan in discomfort, his mouth was plugged with his driver's own erection. He could feel his body being torn apart at both ends.

Ramsey's thrusts became more impatient as he watched his supplier suck the erection and bring his lover to ejaculation in less than a minute. As the fluid spilled was being gratefully swallowed, Ramsey's senses fell into overdrive and his thrusts became more fierce. Getting off more seeing the pain on Lee's face, he shoved the driver away and leant over, slamming himself violently in and out of his willing partner. Moving closer to Lee's ear and growling into it, "tell me you like it."

Obediently, Lee complied. "I like it." Wrenching his eyes closed, in pain, he panted as the thrusts kept coming.

Grabbing a fistful of hair and growling louder, Ramsey grit his teeth. "Tell me how much you love it." When no answer came, he repeated this command. 

Logan Corlano, Lee's driver and lover of ten years, stood by the bedside and stared, bleary-eyed at what was happening. He heard Lee's pained groans as he tried to comply with the dealer's demands but also felt it was not what he wanted to let happen. Moving to remove his Sig Sauer from his holster, amidst the pile of his clothing, he cocked it and raised it to Ramsey's head. "Let him go and pull the fuck out." A deep voice with chiseled, dark features gave the man an extra tone of business.

"I ain't finished." 

Lee raised a hand and nodded for the man to lower the weapon. 

Another moment passed as Ramsey gasped loudly as he came and promptly slumped over the man beneath him, sated and unconscious.

A pained groan as Lee shoved the man off of him to let his lay beside him, on the bed. He panted as he found he couldn't move without pain. "Get this pig out of here."

"You alright?" Logan asked. Placing the gun on the bedside table and bending to help his lover and employer stand up.

Lee winced and nodded. "Nothing a hot shower and a quick exit won't cure." He groaned as Logan's hand briefly brushed against his firm backside. Wrapping his arms around the dark-haired man, they embraced for a long moment, Lee's head on Logan's shoulder.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

Turning around slowly and staring at the unconscious dealer, Lee blinked and panted. "Leave him. Room's paid for 'til tomorrow." With Logan's help, he made his way over to the bathroom and into the large shower, to clean up. The two men lathered each other and carefully caressed their bodies, mouths joining briefly. 

From the bedside table, next to his pack of cigarettes, Lee's mobile buzzed with an incoming text.

 

Continued.


	6. Chapter 6

"Daddy!" Samantha's gleeful cry carried from the hallway as she ran into her dad's room and threw her arms around the man sitting on the bed, waiting for her. She hugged her father tightly before realising the man was still in pain from his wounds. Pulling back and wiping her tears with her shirt cuffs, Samantha looked her father over and hugged him again, this time softer. "I was so scared."

Parker held her and tried to comfort her. "I know baby, and I'm sorry." Tears came but he composed himself before looking over at Joan and Sherlock, standing in the doorway. "Thank you for bringing her back, safe."

Sherlock stepped inside and stopped, keeping his distance. "The man you should really thank goes by the name, Lee Sawyer. He bargained himself for her and managed to get her away from a very dangerous arms dealer."

"Sawyer had my little girl? He touched her?" Parker's tone became frantic as his eyes widened and his arms tightened around his daughter.

Joan also stepped foreward and closed the door behind her. "Both Samantha and Sawyer state that nothing between them happened. Captain Gregson even talked to Sawyer and he admitted to the captain that no one defiled her." She caught the audible sigh of relief from the man and waited a moment before asking any more questions. "Mister Harris, Captain Gregson also stated that you were the doctor that treated Sawyer, when he was shot. When we came to see you, yesterday, you seemed very afraid of Lee Sawyer. Any reason why?"

Patting his daughter's back and gently easing them apart, he quietly asked for her to give them a moment. Samantha reluctantly agreed and he waited for her to leave the room and close the door behind her before he spoke. "Fine. Twenty years ago, I was uh, just starting residency and this call came in that a uh, young man was violently attacked by his pimp or john or whatever they called themselves. I was one of the attendings who examined Sawyer. I patched him up, checked in on him, talked to him, got him to tell me what happened, earned his trust and we became friends. The next day, he's being arrested for murder." Parker took a breath before finishing his statement. "A few years later, I see him again, this time, he's full of holes and wants me to patch him up. Now, you're telling me he's in with an arms dealer?" Parker shook his head.

"Mister Harris, your late wife had a past in prostitution, as well, correct?" Sherlock trudged on, not letting the man get too emotion or stuck on what Sawyer might or might not have done.

"Yes. Why is that important? She was killed by a drunk driver." Parker's brow furrowed as he looked from Sherlock to Joan, trying to figure out the line of questioning.

Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet and down again. "Suzette Clemens, correct?"

Parker Harris swallowed. 

"My sources are very thorough and have come to the conclusion that you were the drunk driver that took the life of your departed wife and her daughter from a previous relationship; Lee Sawyer's daughter. That was why you promptly resigned from hospital, gave up your home and have been living off the streets with your daughter, Samantha, ever since." Sherlock paused to see the remorse in Parker's face. He dared to continue as the room door opened again and Samantha ran in, after hearing every word Sherlock said. "In fact, Lee Sawyer is the very link between you and your late wife. That's why you are afraid to talk about him, aren't you? You are afraid of what Mister Sawyer would do to you, if he found out that you caused the accident. Aren't you?"

"Sherlock." Joan cautioned calmly.

Samantha turned and glared angrily at Sherlock. "Leave my dad alone. You don't know anything about my mom or my dad. Leave him alone!"

After hearing the commotion, the nurse stepped in to see what the problem was and told Sherlock and Joan to leave.

Sherlock turned immediately to go but Joan waited until the officer came around the corner. "Samantha is welcomed to stay with you but, there will be an officer posted outside your door to make sure no one but official staff is permitted to see you. For your own protection." Without another word, she followed Sherlock down the hall and texted the captain to apprise him of the situation and findings.

~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Gregson pulled in and weaved his way around to the back of the lot. He sat in his car and waited for Lee to show. It was mid afternoon and the temperature had dropped several degrees. He had left the car running so he could use the heater but that was doing little to fend off the encroaching cold. Ten minutes passed as another car's headlights made their way toward him, pulling in behind him and shutting off their engine and lights. He waited for the man to open the passengar door and sit down beside him. "Who're you?"

The man shifted in his seat and adjust his coat before turning to look at the captain. "Name's Logan, Captain. I'm here to tell you to back off of Sawyer."

"He didn't want to come so he sent his driver. He's testing my patience." The captain scoffed. "So, where is he?"

Logan kept an even gaze on the captain. "That's Agent Corlano, Captain Gregson. The ATF has been working with Sawyer since the apprehension of Chester Montenero, AKA 'Money'. So far, he's helped put away four suppliers as well as several heavy-hitting dealers. I've been working on this for 12 years and I don't need you interfering with my investigation."

Gregson nodded, disbelievingly. "What does Sawyer get out of it? Eliminate the competition so he can set up shop after getting a free-pass?"

Shaking his head, Logan glanced out of the front and back windows for followers. "Nope. He's surrendered his known assets and does what we tell him, or he gets to go right back to Sing Sing for a permanent address. Consider this a friendly warning, Captain; back off." He turned and reached for the handle before Gregson grabbed his arm.

Swallowing his anger, Gregson pressed on. "Then let me help you put the rest of this case away. I'm already in it up to my neck, because of Sawyer. A fourteen year old girl is in my custody while her father recovers from a bullet wound. It's my ass on the line, if this goes south."

Logan weighed the situation. "My guy on the inside told me that Ramsey Gaither and his 'new partner' are planning a big operation. We're talking coastal and maybe even international. Sawyer tells me that this partner, Marissa Dormand, is one of Canada's biggest sex trade suppliers. The deal was for 100 units to be delivered, tonight. However, because of the police presence, from your precinct, Sawyer had the shipment rerouted. These are sex slaves from around the world and you're telling me, your little unit is going to bring down this whole case by yourselves? Not happening, Captain."

"I thought Sawyer didn't deal in people. Where's he getting them from?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

"Let me tell you something. This is my city. I was appointed to keep it safe. While I appreciate the lessening crowd of mongrels and trash I have to put away, I'm still gonna do my job to keep my city safe, by any means necessary. Is that clear? I've been running around chasing shadows for this man, using up my department resources just to keep this scumbag happy. Now, he may go away for a long time, after this but, I'm inclined to get to the bottom of whatever game he's playing with the citizens of my city." Gregson met Logan's eyes and leant in to direct his point to the other man.

Logan sighed inwardly. "He gave you the girl. Everything he does, I control. My department owns his ass, until this assignment is complete. Believe me, Captain, he's on an extremely short leash." To accent his point, he pulled the handle on the door and opened it before stepping out and shutting the car door. 

As the Lexus pulled away, Captain Gregson sat there and read over the file he had placed on the backseat, for insurance, in case Sawyer had anything to refute. Even more frustrated that when he drove in, Captain Gregson slammed the side of his fist against the steering wheel before starting the engine and driving back to the precinct.

~~~~~~~~~~

Joan was awakened in the early hours by loud, obnoxious noise coming from the monitor room, downstairs. She sighed as she knew who it was but why did he always have to listen to things so loudly? Throwing the covers off, she slipped on her slippers and trudged, sleepily to the door. Making her way down to the room where the noise came from, she found herself alone with the pan of televisions all playing several different angles of the dockyard. She stood in the middle of the room and stared at the middle screen and hadn't heard Sherlock walking back into the room with a bowl of oatmeal in his hands.

"Good, you're awake. I have been watching the footage of the attack, all night, to find the one piece of information that we might have missed." He walked right by her, barely giving her a glance, and sat back down in his swivel chair.

Sighing, which turned into a yawn, Joan stepped forward and folded her arms. "Why? Captain Gregson and Marcus have both watched it, several times, and found nothing useful about it."

Sherlock turned toward her but didn't take his gaze off of the monitors. "Yes, but they didn't know what to look for." Shoveling a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, he stared at the main screen before reaching down to retrieve the remote to press the PAUSE button. "There!"

Joan stared to where he was now pointing but could barely make out the figure. "What is that?"

"Not what. Whom, Watson." Sherlock corrected. "We've been looking at this all wrong. Captain Gregson has been going after Lee Sawyer as if he was the one who put the word out to disrupt the shipment when, in fact, there was a whole other party altogether that also took place in the massacre."

Joan shifted and stepped closer to squint and stare closely at the screen. "I don't see anything."

Promptly placing the bowl on the floor and standing up to make his way over to the table, where the guard's statement had been placed, he quickly picked it up and turned to hand it to her. "At the time of the shooting, Mister Greene stated that he was around the front of the yard when he heard the gun fire."

"Yea."

Sherlock stepped over to the far left group of screens and pointed to the screen on the bottom corner. "Then, the man is clearly in need of some stronger prescription glasses, Watson. That" he pointed to a figure standing between the guard shack and the container where the Harrises had bunked for the night, "is clearly not the front of the yard. You say you and Detective Bell found the girl's photobook in the shack and he denied ever seeing it before, well, he is making a move towards their container with.... a gun in his hand." Giddily, he bounced up on the balls of his feet, keeping his finger pointed to the figure and the small blur in the man's hand. "It was not a stray bullet but Mister Greene's purposely aimed weapon that shot Mister Harris." 

Joan sighed. "I'm going to make coffee and get dressed. The captain is going to want to see that."

 

Continued


	7. Chapter 7

The captain sat in his chair, leant back with one elbow on the arm and hand cupped at his chin. A finger absently tapped at his jaw as he stared out the window, behind him, and let his mind wander down memory lane. His mind drifted back to working under cover for the second-rate pimp and drug dealer, Chester Montenero. He had spent months getting into the tightest grouping with "Money", until he was go-to man before any visitor could be able to speak to "Money."

_2003_

_Two quick knocks on the door before "Bobby" looked through the keyhole. He opened the door to the length of the security chain and was met with a tall, slendre man, dressed in a long black coat and a fedora. The man's head remained bent until he asked who was calling._

_The man's head remained down, longish blond hair concealing the rest of his face that the fedora didn't. "Tell him 'the It-Man' is here and I want my payment." A calm baritone voice spoke from beneath the fedora._

_From behind him, Bobby heard the boss laugh loudly and wave the mystery guest inside. Unchaining the door and opening it wider, he stepped aside and let the man enter. As he watched the man step inside, he caught a glimpse of the man's smooth features as the fedora lifted and Lee Sawyer smiled and greeted his customer. Lee stepped in, followed by his well-muscled bodyguard/driver. The suite was dimly lit and had several, high-priced/high society men and women chatting and making out with Money's clientele but Lee didn't bother to look anywhere other than where the pimp now stood._

_"Ha ha! Lee! S'up, man? How's it hangin' bro?" A stalky black man with a nice tan suit and gold chains that hung from his wrists and neck. "C'mon in, sit down, let me get you a nice juicy squeeze to wet your lips with."_

_From where Bobby stood, he could see the casual stare on the stranger's face. He couldn't quite put his finger on the expression Lee held as the pimp spoke to him. As he closed the door and Lee and "Money" walked back into the living room, he noted that Lee held the man's gaze but glanced over at a beautifully made-up prostitute who found herself staring and smiling shyly at the tall blond._

_Turning back to his customer, Lee let his small smile fade back into his business facade. "I'm here for my money, 'Money.'"_

_Money laughed. "You ain't in a rush, are you? Boy, sit down, have a girl to play with." He waved a hand for Lee to sit down on the end of a plush, white sofa while a young woman, wearing only a French maid's see-through apron and black high heels, walked up to him with a tray of crystal champagne glasses and lowered the tray for Lee to choose. "Have a drink, get a suck," Money pulled up the fur-lined chair he had been sitting in, prior, and turned to face Lee before finishing, "then I got a deal for you."_

_Lee smiled at the server and accepted a glass of pale amber liquid as he eye caught the eye of the same woman who smiled at him, before. "I'm listening."_

_Money smiled widely and followed Lee's gaze. He turned and called the woman over to join the mysterious man on the sofa. When he turned back to his expensive guest, he found Lee's complete attention focused on the woman walking over to him. "Found one you like, huh? Yea, she's one of my best spreads."_

_Standing with his back to the closed door, arms folded and keeping an eye on the party, Bobby found himself watching how Lee treated "Glitter", not a new addition but not an old pro, either. He noticed that the man took her hand as she sat down beside him, holding the man's gaze as she smiled at him and placed a well-manicured, bronze hand against the man's black silk shirt. He also noted that Lee had only taken a few sips from his glass before handing it to her while his right hand moved slowly up her long, thin thigh, as she had draped her left leg over his lap._

_Lee's hand moved slowly up her leg to the hem of her barely-there black mini dress and paused as he remembered the pimp, sitting across from him, leering at them. "You said you have a new order. What would that be?"He turned his attention back to the woman now playing with his golden hair._

_Money laughed throatily. "I want to take out the 42nd Street Thugs. I wanna own this city. I think you're the man I need for the job." His eyes lowered to find Lee's right hand slipping between Glitter's legs and resting there, making Glitter smile. "As for payment? Name your price. You want her for a night? Go ahead. Hell, take as many bags as you want."_

_"Just her." With his left hand, Lee reached up and stroked her hair that was fashioned with glitter and shiny beds as the ends._

_Money smiled, widely. "You got her."_

_"As payment. I want her." Lee's expression flattened._

_Shaking his head and laughing nervously. "She's my best fuck. No way, man."_

_Lee turned his attention from Glitter's brown eyes to Money's shocked face. He seemed angry. "Then no deal." Moving the hand from between Glitter's legs to moving her leg off of his lap and standing up, Lee fixed his suit and made his way, slowly, over to the door._

_"Alright! Alright!" Money fumed. "But I want double the order."_

_Lee stopped walking and smirked. He turned back to hold out a hand for Money to accept the deal and added. "Glad to do business with you. I'll have your order in three days." After shaking a begrudged pimp's hand, he moved to offer Glitter his hand to stand up and walk with him._

_As Bobby opened the door, and watched them leave, he glanced around the corner and saw something he never thought an arms dealer would ever do to a prostitute; Lee had slipped his coat off and placed it on the shoulders of Glitter, as they walked down the hall, Lee's driver following behind._

Gregson had switched positions to lean back with his hands clasped behind his head. He smiled as he noted Sawyer's chivalrous act as he and Glitter walked away.

"Captain?" Joan spoke up from the entrance, her hand poised to knock on his open door.

Bringing himself back to the present, Gregson turned and waved her in. "I was just reliving my initial meeting with Sawyer." He had been smiling but let it fade as she stepped in and sat down, across from him. "He was an arrogant son of a bitch, back then. But, the girl he 'bought' as payment for his weapons, he treated her like a princess." He raised a hand and wiped his face, clearing his mind of jumbled thoughts. "I've been reading the file Holmes gave me on Sawyer. Learned a few things I didn't really wanna know about him."

Joan noted the folder on the captain's desk. "Like what?"

Gregson sighed. "Like, his own father pimped him for drugs. Not just in New York but all over the country and even Canada. Man made a mint off this kid. One day, Sawyer snapped, gave his dad a flying lesson out a four-storey hotel room window. Police found Lee abused, beaten, sodomised and cowaring under the bed." He inhaled and looked up from the folder to meet her returned gaze to him. "Court found him 'not guilty by reason of abuse by parent'. Anyway, the woman he 'purchased' that night had a street name of 'Glitter' but her real name was Suzette Clemens. She'd been hooking since she was 14 but, that night, it was like none of that mattered. Her file, on the other hand, was full of surprises. After 'Money' AKA Chester Montenero's takedown, she went to jail for a bit, then entered rehab where, I found out, that's where she met Parker Harris. By then, Sawyer was proclaimed dead so, she married Harris while she was pregnant with Sawyer's baby. She was only two when the accident killed her mother, and her, a short time later." He handed the file on Lee Sawyer over to her, for her to look through.

"What colour eyes did Suzette have?" Joan's brow furrowed as she looked at an old photo of Lee's booking.

Gregson opened the file on Suzette and skimmed her stats. "Brown. Why?"

Joan looked up. "Suzette was a black woman in love with a white man. Samantha Harris has green eyes and brown hair and has the features of a mixed marriage. Mister Harris has blue eyes. I think Sawyer 'knew' Ramsey had his daughter and that's why he wanted her, as payment; to get her away from Ramsey. After the accident that killed Suzette, Parker Harris dropped out of sight and he took Sawyer's daughter with him."

"Sawyer didn't know what happened to his daughter that's why he asked me to find her, instead of giving up his customers." Gregson leant in and rest his arms on the desk.

Nodding, Joan handed back the file, keeping it open to Lee's booking photo. "I don't think he ever saw her after the accident." She watched as the captain expression turned grim. "I came in to tell you, Sherlock's found something on the surveillance video from the dock that you should see."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregson and Marcus watched the footage several times and compared it to the blown up print outs of the individual in question. "Are you sure this is Greene and not the mysterious other guard?" Gregson removed his glasses and raised his head to look up at Sherlock, who stood on the other side of the table, in the conference room.

"Quite certain. The first video shows the angle from above the docks, on the lamp post. The second video shows the angle from the room of the guard's shack. Hence, the angle pointing to the men as they rob the delivery crate. The emblem on the guard's jacket matches the patch of the security company AND I have manipulated the photograph to lighten and contrast it so that this" Sherlock bent over the table and slid another, lightened photo of the same screen shot, in front of the captain, "is most assuredly Mister Greene pointing his weapon at the same container that housed Mister Harris and his daughter."

Gregson stared at the photo. "We checked his weapon that morning. It hadn't been fired. No residue on his hands. Why would he have reason to shoot the homeless man and his daughter, instead of going after the thieves?"

Sherlock stared at the cleaned up photo and then at the screen that had been paused at the thieves emptying the container of weapons. "Mister Greene was quite tired of simply being a guard on watch while gangs and drug dealers raked in the money. I took the liberty of watching the previous camera footages from the past six months and, though, none were as deadly as the other night, Mister Greene was the only guard on duty at the time of each delivery. His bank account," handing the captain the print out of the guard's statements, Sherlock finished, "confirms that he received some kind of fee for looking the other way whenever the shipments came in. My sources, though, have not found any connection from Mister Greene to Mister Sawyer. They have concluded that Mister Greene is receiving a second paycheck from a shell corporation called Elgis Limited; a flight couriour for medical supplies."

Gregson nodded. "Samantha Harris mentioned she was kept in a hangar office, with Ramsey, when Sawyer entered the picture. If Sawyer didn't hire him, maybe Ramsey Gaither did." He stood up and turned to Marcus. "Have some uniforms get down to the docks and sit on that guard shack. If he did fire a weapon, it has to be there, somewhere." He then turned to Sherlock but paused before he spoke, second-guessing himself but then reaffirmed his thought. "Would you escort the Harrises back here? When you get back here, wait for me. I need to rattle a cage." He turned back to the door and hurried out and back to his office to grab his mobile. "Miss Watson, would you join me so that we could follow up on a fact?"

Scrolling through the recent calls, he found the number he was looking for and placed the call. After two rings, the call was answered. "Cemetery. Thirty minutes. Bring a friend." He hung up before Lee could protest or ask why.

"You're going to meet with him?" Joan stood at the door and waited for him to return.

Grabbing his coat and placing his mobile in his coat pocket as he walked past her, Gregson answered, "yep."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Gregson and Joan had made it to the spot only minutes before Sawyer's black Lexus pulled up behind his Crown Victoria. They opened their car doors and stepped out, as Lee had exited his car from the driver's side. Shutting the door behind him, he leant against the car and waited for Lee to join him. Putting his hat on and stiffening the collar of his coat, he kept his head down as Lee stopped beside him. "Glad to know the number still works."

"It won't tomorrow. What do you want, Captain? Why here?" Lee was uncharacteristically curt as he looked from the captain to Joan. "A protege? Or is she here to keep you from getting too physical?"

Gregson smirked at Lee's sombre tone and ignored the question about Joan. He nodded to the grass lot in front of them. "You asked me to 'find' your daughter. She's there. Right beside Suzette Ellen Harris. Died six months after Suzette; the cause being the same crash that killed Suzette. She was in a coma since the accident. The hospital spelled her name wrong. Lee Ann was changed to Leah. That's the good news. The bad news is that, the girl lying in that grave," he pointed to the grassy spot, "may or may not be yours."

Lee raised his head and stared at the captain, quizzically. "You're saying that isn't my daughter in that grave?" Anger tinged his features as he watched to see if the captain was joking with him.

"I'm saying it's a possibility." Gregson shifted, putting himself between Joan and the arms supplier.

Joan swallowed as she noted Lee's unsettled expression. "Two days ago, you met with your customer who had kidnapped a 14-year-old girl from the docks and bartered yourself for her transfer to your custody, in which, you took care of her, gave her rest and food and a chance to clean up and then, turned her over to police custody. Thank you for that. Mister Harris was happy to have his daughter returned to him and hear she was safe and sound. He became upset when my partner and I informed him that she had been in your care, during that time." She paused for a breath and found she now held Lee's full attention. "I didn't notice it before until we brought Samantha and Mister Harris back together, that you and Samantha Harris have the same colour eyes and Mister Harris has blue eyes. Samantha was also very calm and collected under extreme trauma, where as Mister Harris fell apart every time we spoke to him. I'm sure a blood comparison would confirm our suspicions."

Lee listened to Joan and thought about what she had said before turning to lean against the door and sorrowfully shake his head and stare at the blacktop pathway.

Gregson looked over to the other man to see Lee with his head bowed and eyes closed, his black fedora shading his face. "Give it up, Sawyer. Let's end this, right now. Tell me where the deal is and I'll see to it that you get a nice cushy cell far away from your buyers. In the Toombs."

When Lee finally looked up, he stared at the rows of stones in front of them. "I came back too late. I left as soon as I heard she was in hospital. It was still too late." He groaned as he was shoved back, onto the door of the car and held there by the captain's heavy hand. He avoided eye contact until he was forced to look at the other man.

"Lee Anson Sawyer, age 39, blond hair, green eyes, approximately five foot ten, born in Elizabeth, NJ and wanted for prostitution, weapons dealing, and kidnapping, among other things. Your father was also your pimp and he tramped you out to every willing junkie and john from the time you were- what? Ten, twelve? I put in a call to the ATF and got a hold of your little black book from yesteryear. You had A LOT of big names in there. That's one hobby you found hard to give up, wasn't it? So much so that you still let a select few use you in exchange for favours. Favours like, buying and trading weapons, money, drugs, and now, people. You're filth, Sawyer. I'm going to personally make sure your only job, in prison, is scrubbing the johns." Gregson gave Lee another shove for accent. 

Logan stepped around from standing at the back of the car and inserted himself into the conversation. "Mister Sawyer has been fully cooperative in this investigation, Captain."

Breathing and counting to himself, Lee kept his eyes averted until Logan was done talking. He turned to look at Gregson. "You forgot murder, as one of the charges. I shoved my asshole 'daddy dearest' out of a fourth storey hotel room window when I was 19. Trenton court found me not guilty; a battered son defending himself against his drug-dealer father; a known criminal. I was innocent but to hear you talk, I'm guilty no matter what I do." He felt Logan's hand on his arm and dialed back his temper. "I've managed to stay off the radar, after the last stint, and have since tried to take control of my life. Also, I don't deal in people. I would rather deal with that guilt than a child that's not ready for the shame of that life."

The captain fumed but reminded himself of who joined them. "So where's Ramsey?"

"Stoned, naked and pleasantly numb on a hotel suite's bed about three miles from here. He had the ride of his life shortly before passing out. His partner, on the other hand, she won't be too happy about him ditching her to get laid but, who cares? Right? As long as the girl's safe. My contacts have diverted the shipment to another port and time. It seems there's too much of a police presence at the said rendezvous point so," he laughed, "we've rescheduled." Lee winced and covered it through a smile. His body still ached and his insides felt like mush but he refused to let the captain know his pain.

Gregson watched the man's expression change. "You're hiding something."

Lee chuckled softly. "Nothing you care about." Glancing over and meeting eyes with the captain again, he smirked. "Or, do you?" An audible groan as he was shoved again before the captain turned away from him in disgust.

Joan answered the buzz from her phone. "Sherlock. He says they're ready."

"Good." Gregson took a deep breath and looked over at Logan. "Bring him. Follow us."

Lee's brow furrowed. "Where?"

Gregson dropped his expression and stepped closer to Sawyer. "My turf. You might find this interesting."

 

Continued.


End file.
